


If The Stars Align In Our Favour

by The_Dark_Enchantress_Ruhi



Series: Raazi AU Fics [2]
Category: Raazi (2018)
Genre: AU, AU Fic, Alia Bhatt, Alternate Ending, Angst, Bollywood, Canon deviation, Comfort, Death, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-it fic, Gen, Hurt, Less deaths, Multi-chap, Raazi - Freeform, Raazi AU, Raazi fanfiction, Sehmat and Iqbal have a child!!!, Slow burning angst, Some Romance, Suspense, Thriller, Vicky Kaushal, bollywood fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dark_Enchantress_Ruhi/pseuds/The_Dark_Enchantress_Ruhi
Summary: Abdul is dead but the piece of equipment in his hand is subject to speculation. If it is delivered in the wrong hands Sehmat's cover will be blown, and desperate times call for desperate measures. There are a hundred possibilities as to how a situation might end—Delve into one of them.Alternate ending Fix-it Fic. Thanks to Verity Grahams for beta-ing.Part 2 of Raazi AU Fics.
Relationships: Hidayat Khan & Sehmat Khan, Iqbal Syed & Abdul, Iqbal Syed & Mehboob Syed, Iqbal Syed & Mehboob Syed & Parvez Syed, Iqbal Syed & Samar Syed, Sehmat Khan Syed & Khalid Mir, Sehmat Khan Syed & Munira Syed, Sehmat Khan Syed & Samar Syed, Sehmat Khan Syed/Iqbal Syed
Series: Raazi AU Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575787
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. The Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Raazi or its characters, plot, or settings. All rights belong to Dharma Productions and Junglee Pictures. I do not intend to cause hurt to any person(s) through this work of fiction. The incidents portrayed in the narrative are fictional, and do not confirm to actual events that might have happened during the '71 era. I respect all our Soldiers who fight for our countries—at the border or otherwise—and this piece of fanwork does not intend to disrespect them.

_**"Watch the ways of the wind..."** _

* * *

The atmosphere at the dinner table is tense when Sehmat sits down to eat. The household is still recovering from the shock of Abdul’s sudden death. Sehmat herself is trying to recover from the brutality of the entire episode—her having to murder someone in order to save her position as a spy, so that her country remained safe and alert. 

Her conscience has taken the brunt of the trauma, and no matter how many times she tells herself that it is all for her country; that what she is doing for her nation is far more important than Abdul’s life, her conscience gives her only one response—she killed a person. She is a murderer. In her waking hours, she manages to will those thoughts away—focusing on getting information and covering her trail. So, they come to haunt her in her sleep. She has gotten perhaps four hours of restless sleep in the past two days, plagued by nightmares about Abdul and being discovered, which have kept her up the rest of the night.

Mehboob _bhaijaan_ is the last to sit at the table before dinner commences. One glance at him is enough to convince Sehmat that he hasn’t received good news from the Station Headquarters, although whether that would fare well for her is anyone’s guess. 

“Any lead from the soldiers?” Abba asks, and Sehmat begins to serve herself the dinner to hide her nervousness. 

“No. They had found him lying on the road badly injured. He had lost a lot of blood, so they took him to the hospital immediately.” 

She barely sighs before bhaijaan continues, “But the Police has found the wagon with which Abdul was ... run over.” 

Sehmat freezes. The car. The godforsaken _car_. Why hadn’t she crashed it? Why had she left it parked out there? At least she had worn gloves. But what if someone had seen her driving it?

“Sehmat?” Iqbal’s whisper startles her out of her reverie, and she finishes serving them both while still cursing herself for her foolishness. 

“Whom did the wagon belong to?” Iqbal asks, and she feels a harder pang of guilt in her heart. Iqbal was very close to Abdul—he had practically been _raised_ by Abdul. How cruel that she should take away another parental figure from him. 

“The Cantonment. They found it parked a short distance away from the site of the accident. The key was in the ignition when they found it. It’s being dusted for fingerprints...” 

Sehmat looks up for a single moment, then turns back towards her food. There weren’t any fingerprints in there that she had to be worried about. It was the chance that someone might have seen her in it. 

“...and the piece of metal in his hand—the Station Chief has asked me to submit it to the inspection bureau. They will be able to establish its origin.” 

Silence reigns the table again, and it takes every fibre in her being to stop her hands from shaking and to breathe evenly. Her heart is beating so loud in her ears, she is surprised no one else can hear it. She plays with her food until dinner ends, and only a few bites make it to her mouth. The thought of food right then only serves to make her nauseous.

  
  


Once in the safety of her bedchamber Sehmat paces back and forth so many times she is surprised she hasn’t worn a hole in the flooring. The Inspection Bureau will be able to tell that the metal piece belongs to morse code equipment. If they inspect further, they’ll know that signals were being transferred from their house. And their first suspect would be _her_. Unless the accursed piece of metal is recovered, she is as good as dead. She wrings her hands, finally, and begins to straighten the bed sheets and pillows. She’ll just have to get to Mir Sahab for further direction tomorrow. 

So caught up is she in her musings that she doesn't notice Iqbal’s presence until he speaks, “Are you alright? You seem to be a bit shaken by Abdul’s death.”

_‘So are you,_ ’ She wants to say, _‘I’m so sorry you have to go through this,’_ but she only nods mutely, and watches with a sinking heart as her husband looks out of the window pensively. 

“He was very loyal,” He says, and Sehmat cannot agree more. He was loyal to the last second. His loyalty cost him his life. “I know he could not have done anything that would cause harm to our family.”

She looks at Iqbal’s serious countenance for a moment longer and suddenly finds herself feeling immensely tired. She sits at the edge of the bed and stares into the fireplace instead, and in a voice far too quiet and shaky asks, “Should I go to the Mosque tomorrow? To offer prayers for Abdul. I’ll also get some clothes from the Main Market to distribute to the poor.” None of it is untrue. Nothing will ever be enough to rid her conscience of the guilt of having killed him, but she has to try. She could also use the opportunity to contact Mir Sahab.

“That’s a nice gesture,” Iqbal’s voice breaks into her thoughts once again, soft as it is, “I’ll accompany you.”

Or she could make up some other opportunity to contact Mir Sahab.

She feels the bed sag in a corner, signalling that Iqbal has retired for the night. She retains her position, however, and looks towards the fireplace once again, not being able to find the energy to move. Her life is a cruel paradox, she decides, because the actions she takes to _protect_ herself from being hurt end up hurting her instead—even if in unexpected ways. 

She finally settles under the covers herself, although despite how tired she feels, she finds herself unable to go to sleep. She lies very still with eyes closed, willing sleep to come but to no avail. Beside her, she hears movement again, which could very well just be him turning in his sleep, but she knows better. His breathing is shallow, and she can _feel_ how tense he is. She wonders for a moment if she should signal that she is awake too—that they can talk, and that she hates how he has closed up over the past two days—but decides against it. She cannot comfort him about a loss that _she_ is responsible for. And even if she does try, what would she say to him? That it’s okay, even when both of them know it’s not? That he should cherish the time that he had with him—the same way he has had to cherish the memories of his mother for thirteen years. Sehmat heaves a long sigh. The truth is that no words can console someone who has lost a parental figure, and nothing can make dealing with it easier. 

She opens her eyes slowly and very softly turns so that she is facing Iqbal. He is—as she had known he would be—awake and looking at the ceiling pensively. ‘ _He looks so vulnerable,’_ Sehmat thinks, _‘and so raw.’_ That his side of the bed is in direct view of the window and bathed in moonlight might be poetic on a different occasion, but all Sehmat can see at that moment is how the moonlight glints off his eyes, and how they are shining, and suddenly Sehmat finds that she cannot breathe anymore, and she cannot look any further. She shifts onto her back again and closes her eyes with the same softness as before, careful not to make any quick movements, determined to fall into a dreamless slumber this time. 

  
  


The morning cannot have come early enough for Sehmat. While she had managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, it had been plagued with nightmarish imagery—the look of terror on Abdul’s face just before she had … run him over, the sadness on her husband’s face when they had received the news, and last night. She wakes up feeling tired and sore enough that she has to rally herself to get out of bed and begin her day. 

She wonders how she’ll get about to contacting Mir Sahab if Iqbal will be accompanying her. If it were Munira _bhabhi_ she would’ve taken the chance anyway, but this is Iqbal, and he is an army major—it won’t be nearly as easy to make her way around him. She really doesn't have the heart to lie to him if she can help it. She’ll just have to make up some issue with some stocks for Abbu’s business—which is now up to her to run—and make her way to the Main Market from there. 

It is an hour later when Sehmat has sat through an uneasy breakfast that they, along with Mehboob _bhaijaan_ , begin to leave, and are intercepted by Abba who, upon closer look, looks positively harassed—as if he hasn’t slept in days. 

“You two come with me to the Station Headquarters. There is an emergency meeting we need to attend and then—”

“Abba, you and Iqbal go ahead,” Mehboob bhaijaan says. Sehmat knows as soon as he says it that it is a bad idea for him to argue with Abba right then. “I need to head over to the inspection bureau to submit the metal piece we found with Abdul. I have a meeting there with—”

“Those rogues from the Mukti Fauj _murdered the Governor of the East!_ ” Abba all but screams, seething with fury, and Sehmat looks away from the scene wishing that she were somewhere else. “And here you are chasing after your own tail like a _mongrel._ Get over Abdul’s death, and focus on the tension that is brewing in the country! You can reschedule that meeting for later in the afternoon.” 

Abba turns to step into the car and Iqbal and her exchange looks as bhaijaan storms in with him. Iqbal sighs, and with an apologetic glance, accepts his bag from her and steps into the car. 

Sehmat watches the car speed away, slightly relieved and a little unnerved. She removes all trivial thoughts from her head, however, as she sits in the next car that pulls up and thinks about what she might have to do to get rid of the accursed metal and the setup it came from. 

  
  


“I might take around an hour,” Sehmat tells Ismail as she grabs her bag and gets out of the car, to which she receives a nod. She keeps walking up the main street until she is out of the car’s line of sight, then ducks into one of the less populated side alleys as she pulls on her burqa. She takes several meanders, stopping at various shops to buy trinkets before she makes her way to where she knows Imtiaz will be waiting. 

He is there, sure enough, when she approaches the rickshaw stand, and he jumps onto his rickshaw with a knowing nod once he hears her say, “I need to get some warm clothes—the winter is quite harsh now.” She gets into the rickshaw silently, and they are at the Mosque in no time. She makes her way to the flower stand that Saadiq runs, and points mutely towards a basket of _Phool Chaddar_ even as he furrows his brow in inquiry.

Sehmat makes her way to the Mosque—she’d rather offer her prayers for Abdul’s safe passage to heaven _before_ she finds out about other potential murderesses. She spends perhaps half an hour in there, and when she returns Saadiq is entertaining customers. She waits behind the other two ladies until they are done, and then asks conversationally, “How much for the Red Roses?” 

“They’re 20 rupees apiece. With Thorns or without?” Sehmat swallows.

“With.”

Saadiq looks around for curious eyes, then ushers her inside the shop without further delay. She dials the switchboard number for the Embassy, then hangs up after two rings. The phone rings back in a heartbeat.

“Hello? Is it possible to talk?”

Kabir Murtaza’s voice speaks over the phone, “Yes, this line is safe. Go on.”

“I need to talk to Mir Sahab. The Cat has a Toy, and it won’t let go. It’s taking it to the Den.”

A long sigh over the line. “Nothing can be done regarding the Cat just yet. It’s not been so long since the Roof was repaired. You should get some spices for yourself—your father had once told me you like them.”

The ambassador hangs up, and Sehmat sets the receiver down herself. She leaves the shop once the coast is clear with a nod to Saadiq, and makes her way to where Imtiaz normally waits for her, mind whirring. There is a shipment of spices set to arrive today in the afternoon from down South for trade. Perhaps it’s time she pays the shop a visit after all.

**_Glossary:_ **

_Ma :_ Mother

 _Abba :_ Father

 _Bhaijaan :_ Brother

 _Miyaan :_ Here, husband.

 _Bhabhi :_ Sister-in-law (brother's wife)

 _Phool chadar :_ A sheet of knitted flowers used as offerings for worship.

 _Rajma :_ Kidney beans

 _Kabuli Chane :_ Chickpeas

 _Assalam aalekum : '_ Peace be upon you', an Arabic greeting

 _Chachi_ : Aunt

 _Walaikum assalam : '_ And unto you be peace', an Arabic greeting

 _Beta :_ here, Child

 _Ammi :_ Mother

 _Mohtarma :_ Madam

 _Choti Begum : '_ Choti' means younger, and 'Begum' is the title of a married Muslim woman, equivalent to Mrs. Together in this context they refer to Sehmat being the younger daughter-in-law of the house.





	2. The Solution

_**"... Tread lightly in your gait,"** _

* * *

The house is quiet when Sehmat enters, an hour after she had left, bags filled with clothes that she had bought to give out in both hands. Munira _bhabhi_ is in the living room, reading. She greets Sehmat as she enters, and Sehmat smiles in response, depositing the bags on a sofa and making towards her bedroom with the promise of being back soon. 

It is not until she has shut the bedroom door and drawn the curtains that her shoulders sag, and she lets down her mask of unaffected happiness as her brow creases. 

_‘You should get yourself some spices.’_

He could only have been referring to the stock whose arrival was due at noon. Normally _Abbu_ would send one of his trusted handymen with it to keep track of it until it reached the shop here, and Sehmat knows that information has been exchanged through the goods before. Still, she cannot help but feel that her current situation is a little different. At any rate, there is a problem with the shipment, she decides, which is pressing and urgent, and because of which she will have to leave the house. It also might not be such a bad idea to call the shop to ask after the stocks.

Sehmat finally heads towards the living room to find Munira in discussion with Salma about the preparations for dinner. Sehmat sits on the couch and begins to sort through the clothes while listening to their conversation on what curry to prepare. She feels a sudden wave of nausea come over her, and swallows, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself.

“What do you say, Sehmat? _Rajma_ or _Kabuli Chane_ for lunch?” Munira asks, turning towards her.

“ _Rajma,_ I think,” she says with great effort, and Munira nods to Salma.

Sehmat heaves a tiny sigh and continues sorting through the clothes as Salma leaves and Munira joins her in her task. She can feel her sister-in-law’s eyes on her, although right then she is a little preoccupied with trying to get rid of the nauseous feeling.

“Are you feeling alright, Sehmat?” Munira asks after a few moments, and Sehmat raises her eyes towards hers, trying not to panic.

“Yes, of course,” she says feebly, “why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Munira says, a strangely mischievous gleam in her eyes, “It’s just that you look a little pale. Well, paler than you already are.”

Sehmat’s worry is beginning to dissipate when she continues, “And you haven’t eaten properly in a long time.” Munira is bearing a slight smile now. “You were visibly uncomfortable when Salma and I were discussing food.”

Sehmat leans back in her seat and nods slowly, not entirely sure where Munira is trying to take the conversation. “Yes, I suppose it’s possible that I have caught a stomach bug,” she says.

Munira’s smile widens, and Sehmat can hear the mirth in her voice as she says, “I don’t know if it’s a bug, Sehmat, but I’m very sure it’s in your stomach.”

Sehmat frowns at her words before the meaning behind them dawns to her, and she can feel her face burning. She imagines she’s about as red as the roses she had bought earlier.

“It’s nothing of the sort _bhabhi_ , I’m just a little unwell.”

“Are you certain?” Munira asks her as she finishes emptying one bag and reaches for another “It’s really a lot wiser to confirm if you have any doubts than to … than to face the consequences later on.” Munira’s voice hardens at the last part, and Sehmat feels her heart constrict. She shifts closer to her, placing a hand on hers. 

“I’m certain it’s nothing, _bhabhi_ , but perhaps we could go visit the doctor later? To be sure?”

Munira looks up after a heartbeat and smiles, eyes shining. “Of course. Now, how do you feel about lunch? The men are going to be caught up until evening—Iqbal had called earlier.”

* * *

  
  


It is half-past one when Sehmat finally begins to leave for the shop, after confirming that the stock has arrived. She had established with Munira that there is a problem with it which needs to be solved immediately. 

“Alright,” she says to her, “but be careful … just in case. And do try and be back before too long—I’ve prepared a special dish for your _bade bhaijaan._ Hopefully, he’ll bring some good news home.”

Sehmat smiles at Munira and promises that she’d be back before long, and keeps the smile on until she has stepped out of the foyer, and it is replaced by a frown. Her mind reels at the casual reminder of how they’re on different sides, even if it doesn’t feel that way. She discards her frown when her car pulls up, however, and says to Ismail as she gets in, “We’ve got to go to our shop today.”

The store is at the far end of the main market—away from her usual destinations. She spends the journey wondering what she is going to find once she does get there. 

“Park somewhere, I might be a while,” she says as she gets off and makes her way towards the store her father had left for her to run. The actual running of the store and dealing with customers is taken care of by a trustworthy couple that had been with _Abbu_ from the start. They were people whom they could trust with their lives, and people who had seen her grow up. 

“ _Assalam aalekum,_ _Chachi_ ,” Sehmat greets the woman behind the counter with warmth. “ _Walaikum assalam_ , Sehmat _beta,_ ” comes back the reply with a fond smile, which falls a little as she asks, “how are you doing? And your _Ammi_ , how is she doing?” 

Sehmat’s smile turns sad as she shakes her head and sighs. “We’re dealing, _Chachi_ . I don’t know if we’ll ever get better after … _Abbu_ but we’re dealing.” 

The older woman nods in understanding. “ _Miyaan_ is in the back with the transporter—they’re unloading the stock.”

Sehmat nods and makes her way to the back of the shop, silently sighing as she thinks of her father. But when she reaches the back room, all thoughts evaporate from her head, and only one emotion floods her mind—relief. Relief, because Mir Sahab is standing near the stocks with _Chachaji,_ disguised as a transport person. She wants to jump for joy but instead schools her face into an impassive mask and approaches the duo with due greetings. 

“I hope there is no problem with the stock?” she asks Mir Sahab, tone neutral. 

“There is, actually, _Mohtarma_ ,” he replies. Sehmat politely raises an eyebrow.

“It seems we are Missing some Pieces," he says, "although your manager is not ready to believe me.” 

“I’ll deal with this, _Chachaji_ , you can go back to the counter,” she says to the older man, and with a nod to her, he retreats. 

“What has gone so wrong that Kabir told me to reach here as soon as possible?” Mir asks quietly, rummaging through the unloaded spices.

“The night when the parcel was opened, the Roof had begun Leaking—” Sehmat whispers.

“And you had … Repaired it.” 

“Yes, but I lost a piece of equipment. The Cat found the piece and has held on to it tightly since. In a few hours, he’ll take it to a den and then the chance of recovery is ... low.” 

“And where is the rest of it?”

“Here,” she retrieves the polythene from her bag and hands it to him, which he promptly stores in a bag filled with bay leaves.

Mir hums, then narrows his eyes and there is silence for a moment. “There is only one thing to be done now,” he says seriously, “We attack the dens.”

* * *

  
  


It’s too much risk to ask Ismail to take her to Sarvar’s, so Sehmat puts on her burqa and slips out the back of the shop after ensuring that everything with the ‘Missing’ stocks has been sorted out. She takes a rickshaw to the other end of the Main Market, where Sarvar’s grocery store is situated. She makes her way to the shop slowly, her heart throbbing loudly, stopping at another stall to look at some dresses to throw any suspicion off herself. This is the first time she is going to the shop, and the first time she is meeting Sarvar or asking for his intervention. But _Abbu_ trusted this man, and he was his friend, so she has faith in him.

She is greeted by his wife Nafeesa, who is sitting at the till. The sun is high up in the sky, and there are very few people about the market. Sarvar Store is deserted except for its owners. 

“I want Chickpeas,” Sehmat says, “of 8 mm size.”

Nafeesa’s eyes sharpen at her words, and she motions to the man at the far end of the shop, whom Sehmat recognises to be Sarvar himself. 

“Please come this way, _Mohtarma._ ” He motions towards the back-room of the shop, and Sehmat follows him inside it.

"The inspection bureau will have to burn, as will the station headquarters," Sehmat says as soon as she steps inside, her urgency palpable and voice low. They are inside a storeroom of sorts, which Sarvar had deemed safe for their conversation. Sarvar stares at her for a moment with wide eyes, then says, rather than asks,

"You're serious."

Sehmat frowns. "Why wouldn't I be, about something like this?"

"We cannot just burn down the building," he says, disbelief apparent by both his tone and expression. "It'll raise too much suspicion. Besides, there might be information in there that could be vital for us. The bureau would never pass such a suggestion."

Sehmat looks around the premise suspiciously before fishing in the lining of her purse for a small piece of paper, which she hands over to Sarvar. "The bureau will, and it has." She pauses and glares at the mounds of grain-filled sacks around them. "Are you sure this place is completely safe?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then listen carefully. The piece of equipment that Abdul had taken from the set-up will be deposited in the Inspection Bureau this afternoon. Before the place burns, you will have to make sure that the piece is secured.

"You will make it look as if the Mukti Fauj is responsible. Mir Sahab says we have the uniforms of the rogue officers—a dropped name tag, an ill deposited can of kerosene with their fingerprints—anything to throw suspicion their way. Mir Sahab will brief you at 17:47 hours today." She gestures towards the still unopened piece of paper in Sarvar's hand. "All lines of communication except that of the Ambassador will have to be closed."

He finally opens the paper in his hand to reveal what is some sort of code.

"13442112," Sehmat says, and Sarvar folds the paper neatly and places it in his pocket. He regards Sehmat for a moment. 

"That's a rather large gamble for a mere piece of equipment, don't you think?" He then asks gravely, "Does it have your fingerprints on it?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I wear gloves. But risking your most strategically placed spy's position is also an equally large gamble, don't you think? They would know when they look into it that it is a part of a Morse Code System set-up. They're bound to come and investigate."

He exhales slowly, then nods, gesturing for her to follow him out as she recovers her face with her burqa. He hands her a bag filled with a packet of grains, and with a final nod to Nafeesa and Sarvar, Sehmat leaves.

Taking another rickshaw, she makes her way back to her store, and enters it through the back door. She removes her burqa and leaves through the front, making her way towards the blue car parked under some trees, on which Ismail is leaning. Her heart beats faster than she had thought it to be capable of. 

“I didn't take too long, did I?” she asks Ismail as he backs the car, and is relieved when the answer is negative.

“No, _Choti Begum._ You had said you might be a while. It’s only been an hour.”

Sehmat nods and turns to give a last look to the shop before they speed away.

* * *

The house is quiet when she enters, and Sehmat feels both relieved and disconcerted at the lack of activity. She slips into her bedroom and sits down on the futon at the end of the bed, breathing a heavy sigh before she can help herself, and it is then that she realizes how truly tired she is. She still has work to do. She takes off her purse and puts it away, making her way to the bathroom to review it after the removal of the set-up.

She shouldn’t have installed it at all. It was very risky, of course—the entire business is very risky—but to have installed a morse-code transmission set-up _in_ the house? That was plain foolishness on her part. Now she will have to pay for it. 

_'Always remain on your guard.'_

She had learnt that the hard way, long before her assignment had begun. It had been three weeks until Mir Sahab had felt that the point had been drilled into her head satisfactorily enough, and she had blown it away just like that. She has overstepped. And now there is not much that she can do, except wait. Wait anxiously and hope that everything goes as planned. 

She pulls out a hair-dryer from the cupboard and begins its installation, then steps back tensely to survey the rest of the bathroom. Her shoulders sag with a slow exhale when she is done with her inspection. No one would be able to tell that a Morse Code Setup had been installed here unless they knew. The hair-dryer should cover up any leftover tracks. Finally, after going over the wall another dozen times, she convinces herself that there is nothing more that she can do. She presses her ear against the door, listening for any movement, and after confirming that she’s alone, she lets herself out of the bathroom.

* * *

_**Glossary:** _

_Ma :_ Mother

 _Abba :_ Father

 _Bhaijaan :_ Brother

 _Miyaan :_ Here, husband.

 _Bhabhi :_ Sister-in-law (brother's wife)

 _Phool chadar :_ A sheet of knitted flowers used as offerings for worship.

 _Rajma :_ Kidney beans

 _Kabuli Chane :_ Chickpeas

 _Assalam aalekum : '_ Peace be upon you', an Arabic greeting

 _Chachiji_ : Aunt

Chachaji : Uncle

 _Walaikum assalam : '_ And unto you be peace', an Arabic greeting

 _Beta :_ here, Child

 _Ammi :_ Mother

 _Mohtarma :_ Madam

 _Choti Begum : '_ Choti' means younger, and 'Begum' is the title of a married Muslim woman, equivalent to Mrs. Together in this context they refer to Sehmat being the younger daughter-in-law of the house.


	3. The Actions

**_“Your footprints betray you …”_ **

* * *

It is early evening when Sehmat wakes from what was supposed to be a nap but had turned into an actual dreamless slumber. It is certainly a welcome change from the usual uneasy sleep that she had been having lately. The sun is just about to set, and faint pink-golden light is flooding the room. She hears a door close and sits up to see Iqbal enter the room slowly, in uniform. It appears he has just gotten back from the station headquarters. 

He sees her sitting up with some amount of surprise and says, “I didn’t mean to wake you up … sorry.” 

Sehmat waves off his apology with a slight smile as she gets off the bed and the next moment stumbles and falls. She vaguely realises that she hasn’t really fallen—Iqbal has steadied her—and puts a hand to her temple as if that would do away with her lightheadedness. She closes her eyes with a grimace until she can bear to stand on her own feet, then opens them and lets out a short breath. Iqbal presses a glass of water into her hands, which she takes gratefully, and sips at it tentatively while she tries to make sense of what had just happened. 

“Are you alright?” Iqbal asks, brow furrowed in concern. He’s still holding on to her as if she might fall again. He doesn't let go until she has answered. 

“How did you fall?”

“I … don’t know. I suppose I got up too fast.”

Iqbal arches his eyebrows, and Sehmat is quick to dissipate his worries, even as she wonders herself. She sets about putting his things into place when unwittingly, Munira  _ bhabhi’s _ words come to her. Sehmat swallows. It isn’t an entirely implausible idea, now that she thinks about it. It isn’t as if she and Iqbal haven’t been intimate, and it  _ has _ been a while since she last bled. She had thought it was because of all the stress, but now she wonders. She turns towards the mirror in the bedroom and looks at herself properly for the first time in days. She doesn't look as though she has gained any weight recently. ‘ _ Yet,’  _ a small part of her brain tells her, and she doesn’t know if she should shush it. 

There are, however, other things to worry about. As Iqbal steps out of the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, he takes his bag and beret in preparation to leave. Sehmat’s heart stops for a moment. Mir Sahab had refused to tell her any specifics about their plant apart from what is absolutely necessary. If he were going to the Inspection Bureau or the Headquarters ...

“Where are you going?” she asks quietly as she follows him out of their bedroom with his wallet in hand. 

“Station Headquarters. I need to fill out some paperwork and pick up some files,” Iqbal says as he accepts his wallet from her in the foyer, “I might be a while. Abba and Bhaijaan should be back soon, however.” 

Sehmat nods, acutely aware of the speed with which her heart is beating, and she watches as he leaves, giving her a small smile.

She returns inside the house, but instead of returning to her bedroom she wanders aimlessly around. She moves from the living room to the kitchen, then to the dining room until she finds herself at the door of her bedroom once more. She sighs, then heads inside with a sick feeling in her stomach which she knows will not be alleviated until all members of the house are safely inside it. 

* * *

  
  
  


Dinner is mostly uneventful, and Abba and Bhaijaan are back by the time it begins, but not Iqbal, and Sehmat worries. 

“He will be late,” Bhaijaan says. 

Evidently he notices how her eyes keep finding the clock and then the window. Sehmat nods, moving her food around her plate. She doesn’t really have the heart to eat. Still, under Munira’s watchful eyes she shoves some spoonfuls of rice down her throat and tries to rid herself of the ominous feeling that has begun to settle in her stomach. Abba and Bhaijaan seem to have resolved their conflict. They are making some conversation which she tries to concentrate on to distract herself, but decides that most of it is fluff—what relatives are getting married and what generals are getting promotions—until Abba asks about the metal piece and the inspection bureau.

“I visited there before coming home,” Bhaijaan says, “and submitted the piece to them. They say it might be another week before they can establish its origin and dust it for fingerprints.” 

Abba nods, and no more is said on the topic. Sehmat breathes a small sigh. At least the piece has been submitted. Silence reigns the table after that, and Sehmat’s eyes move towards the wall clock again. 8 PM. He had left at six and had said he’d be a while. It’s _ been _ a while. The sick feeling in her stomach is starting to spread, and Sehmat finds that she cannot bear eating anymore—not that she has eaten much anyway—for fear of throwing up. 

She looks up when the two men rise from the table, and it is only her and Munira left, the latter of whom is looking intently at the former. Sehmat, however, refrains from meeting her eyes, aware of what is going on in her sister-in-law’s head.

“Are you actually going to eat that?” Munira asks finally, and Sehmat looks up with a grimace. 

“I don’t think I can,” she replies truthfully, “I feel as if I’m going to throw up.”

Munira rises from the table and begins collecting various dishes, Sehmat beside her, helping her carry them to the kitchen. 

“Have you given it any thought?” 

Sehmat doesn’t have to ask what ‘ _ it’  _ is this time. She is fully aware of ‘ _ it’  _ playing in the back of her mind.

“I’m still unsure …” she says after a moment, and Munira looks up at her from where she is crouched before the fridge.

“... but?” she prompts Sehmat further, and Sehmat swallows before coming out with the next part of her sentence.

“... the idea might not be completely without merit.”

Munira hums and gets up before shutting the fridge door. 

“So we’ll have to be sure, wouldn’t we?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, and Sehmat nods slowly. 

“We can go to my doctor,” Munira continues on the affirmative action, smiling, “I’ll get us an appointment tomorrow.”

Sehmat nods again. 

“But you must not stress yourself too much. And don’t exhaust yourself over anything.” She places her hand gently on the younger woman’s shoulder before she leaves, still smiling. 

Sehmat watches Munira leave silently, not entirely sure if she should be smiling too at the prospect of having a child.

* * *

  
  


She tries doing the accounts for the shop while waiting up for Iqbal but gives up on it after making the same multiplication error thrice. Half an hour has passed since dinner and her conversation with Munira  _ bhabhi _ and five minutes since she last checked the clock. She puts away her notebook with a sigh and begins to prepare the bed. Her racing heart and pessimistic mind are her only company, and she knows she is not going to get any sleep. Not until Iqbal is also in bed beside her. 

  
  


She picks up the book she has been reading the past week and slides under the duvet, trying to focus. She ends up having read the same page twice before her confusion, guilt, and fear catch up with her. She feels her eyes well up.  _ She might lose Iqbal.  _ Her head has begun to hurt now, and the only coherent thought that she can manage is that  _ she might lose Iqbal.  _ Not that anyone else from back home will think any of it. He’d be just another casualty among who knows how many others, to cover a stupid mistake that  _ she  _ had made. She sniffs, then turns off the lights in the room, goes back to bed, and lays tracing the ceiling with her eyes in the all-consuming darkness. It’d be her fault if he died, the same way it was her fault Abdul died. 

She wipes her tear-stained cheeks and turns over so that she is facing his side of the bed. With her back to the door she lies still, very still, for who knows how long—worrying her lip as she watches the night outside the window, and finally she hears the sound of tires rolling on dirt and coming to a halt. A door opens and then closes. The doorbell rings, and her heartbeat quickens, the door opens, and closes again. The house is filled with silence for a few seconds, and it seems to stretch on forever. Finally, the bedroom door opens. Sehmat turns softly towards the door. The figure in the doorway is trying to close the door softly to avoid disturbing her, and he is lean and carries a briefcase. She breathes out slowly. Not a message about death. She reaches over to the nightlight on the bedside table and pulls it on—to the surprise of her husband. When she sees him, relief like nothing else floods her heart.

“I thought you were asleep,” he says to her softly as he walks over to the futon, and she shakes her head with a smile she cannot control.

* * *

  
  


Sehmat’s day begins early the next day. If she is honest, it’s barely even  _ daytime _ at three AM. She is awoken by urgent knocks to her bedroom door. Iqbal sits up drowsily as she answers the door, and is met with a very worried looking Munira—who is still in her nightclothes—telling her to send Iqbal downstairs as soon as possible.

“Something has happened. We got a call; it’s urgent—all three have to leave now.” 

Sehmat nods and turns to Iqbal, who is already out of bed and looking for his uniform. Sehmat puts on her dressing gown and descends the stairs to go to the kitchen, where Munira is making coffee. She greets her with a nod as she pours the coffee into mugs.

“I wonder what it is,” she says. 

Sehmat heaves a barely audible sigh as she places the hot mugs on a tray and takes it outside to set them on the table.  _ She  _ knows what it is. Munira sinks heavily into a couch and yawns as Sehmat joins her, waiting for the menfolk to descend. They all arrive almost at the exact same time; the two younger officers make straight for their coffee. Abba storms towards the telephone and begins making calls, getting increasingly frustrated with each one, until he finally hangs up swearing loudly enough that none of the occupants of the room are able to look at each other. 

“Those rogues from the Mukti Fauj set  _ fire _ to the Station Headquarters, the Inspection Bureau, and no less than  _ three  _ of the city’s police stations,” he seethes when he comes back to the living room.

The two brothers’ eyes widen, as do Munira’s. Sehmat has to scramble to put an appropriately shocked expression on her face.

“Did we get any of them?” Bhaijaan asks, and Sehmat’s heart skips a beat. 

“No. We almost had one, but he slipped away in the Chaos.” 

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, until Iqbal asks, “How did they get in?”

Abba shakes his head in frustration and lets out a long breath. “They had it all planned,” he says. “We found a half-burnt discarded uniform. It had the name tag of a soldier who had deserted us a few months ago. They are still putting out the fire … but who knows how much material can be salvaged.

“We’ll have to go visit the Headquarters if they’re safe to go into, and then start investigating. We should move now—we don’t have much time before they leave the city, if they haven't already, that is.”

His coffee untouched, Abba makes for the door, his sons following. Munira collects the cups as Sehmat’s mind reels with the information she has unwittingly acquired.  _ If _ Mir Sahab hasn’t yet left the city, he could be in danger—not that she can do anything about it. He had given her explicit instructions to lie low until this particular war gets over with, and then her ‘options will be discussed’.

* * *

  
  


**Glossary:**

_ Ma _ : Mother

_ Abba _ : Father

_ Bhaijaan  _ : Brother

_ Miyaan  _ : Here, husband.

_ Bhabhi  _ : Sister-in-law (brother's wife)

_ Phool chadar  _ : A sheet of knitted flowers used as offerings for worship.

_ Rajma  _ : Kidney beans

_ Kabuli Chane  _ : Chickpeas

_ Assalam aalekum  _ : 'Peace be upon you', an Arabic greeting

_ Chachi  _ : Aunt

_ Walaikum assalam  _ : 'And unto you be peace', an Arabic greeting

_ Beta  _ : here, Child

_ Ammi  _ : Mother

_ Mohtarma  _ : Madam

_ Choti Begum  _ : 'Choti' means younger, and 'Begum' is the title of a married Muslim woman, equivalent to 'Mrs.' Together in this context they refer to Sehmat being the younger daughter-in-law of the house.


	4. The Consequences

" _ **... your conscience up in flames."**_

* * *

It has been two days since the incident. The heads of both East and West are furious with the Guerrilla attackers from the East who, as per the latest news, have blown up the bridges in the East with the help of weapons supplied from back home. To add fuel to the fire, Pakistan has lost crucial intelligentsia information in the actual fire. Sehmat is presented with the menfolk coming home with news that within a month, they'll be at the border against India in both the East and West. Her expression is purposefully neutral when that piece of information is being discussed, even as Iqbal glances at her.

There is a blanket ban on civilians moving in and out of the cantonment which had been imposed hours after the fire incidence—to make sure that if the culprits are inside the cantonment they cannot get out, and no help given to them from outside. A headcount is being conducted of everyone inside the cantonment. All calls are being monitored for that purpose also, movement should be allowed soon, but until then she only has her thoughts.

With no communication, there is no way for her to know if her allies are secure, or if Mir Sahab has made it out unscathed. There is no way for her to contact South. She is fairly positive, however, that Mir Sahab is fine, wherever he is. He is a seasoned agent; he's been doing this job for years now. If memory serves her right, he had been in a similar situation a few years ago. So she buries her small sprout of worry to the far back of her mind, and focuses instead on things that she thinks are more pressingly worrying. Including whether or not she is with child, and whether the father of, said child, would make it out of the war alive to be able to see them.

They haven't been able to visit the doctor as planned due to the current restrictions, but with every passing second Sehmat is more sure that she _is_ pregnant. She has spent _hours_ tracking and re-tracking the dates and weeks, and several others trying to coax out of her sister-in-law what symptoms of pregnancy are without causing her too much pain. She is very helpful, of course, because that is just what she is like, but Sehmat cannot unsee the melancholia that descends upon Munira every time they talk about a child.

Iqbal has barely spent more than three hours at a stretch at home since the past two days, and those are spent in eating and catching up on sleep, so she really hasn't had a chance to talk to him either. However, she is not completely sure what she would say to him if she _did_ get the chance—she isn't even sure yet. But the restrictions on movement are ending tomorrow, and Munira has already booked an appointment with her doctor, so she supposes she'll find out soon enough.

* * *

She is lying awake in bed in the middle of the night when he comes in from work, and in spite of the darkness she can see that Iqbal is tired. His shoulders are sagged and he deposits his possessions on the futon with such an intensity that Sehmat can _feel_ his frustration. She knows the reason for this, of course, the upcoming war—for which they will depart in less than a fortnight—but she has to admit that seeing him so desolate is very disconcerting.

"Would you like dinner?" she asks quietly after a moment.

He looks in her general direction in the dark in what she assumes is surprise and says, with the slightest hint of a smile in his tired voice, "I thought you were asleep."

Sehmat smiles back, not that he can see it. "I never am, am I?"

Iqbal does eventually agree to eat, and once she has gotten out of bed and turned on the lights, she comes to know that it is past one. She remains downstairs to provide him company even as he tells her to go back to sleep, knowing that she is not going to get any, whether in bed or not. She thinks instead of the child—if one exists.

If it does, it will change everything drastically. What would she do then? She'd have to be a lot more careful ... If she is completely honest, she is sacred. Scared of this new development, if it really is … Because what of her job? If, ever in the future, she is discovered, what will become of her child?

She looks towards Iqbal, whose features are tired and distracted. Right now is probably not the best time to have a child, in such an uncertain environment. She then mentally scoffs at herself—as if there will ever be a good time for _them_ to have a child. She chides herself immediately after—whatever their nationality, they are still a wed couple.

To have a child should have been a 'thought out decision', Sehmat thinks. But what has been done cannot be undone. And under no circumstance would she consider aborting. There still remains the question, however, of how Iqbal might react to the news—'If _there is news,'_ part of her brain tells her, and she shushes it. The prospect of his reacting with anything except joy is very real, and her heart constricts at the thought.

Even after returning to bed Sehmat doesn't immediately fall asleep, whether due to nervousness for the next day, or some other reason she is not sure. But she lies in bed for that time thinking about what would happen if she _were_ with child. _Ma_ would be happy, she thinks, if only she could tell her. No letters are being sent home right now, and no calls are being directed there. Nothing will change in that regard, at least until the war ends.

* * *

Sehmat is nervous when she wakes up the next day, though she tries not to show it, and there is a strange sort of excitement in her stomach as she opens her eyes. Iqbal is asleep beside her, which is a surprise after days of consistent absence during these hours. She slips off the bed silently, careful not to disturb him, and sets about beginning her day.

She descends into the kitchen, which is occupied by Salma and Munira, the latter of whom smiles upon noticing her presence.

"Nervous?" she whispers to her while stirring a pan in an effort to efficiently fry whole spices, the smell of which is making Sehmat nauseous. Sehmat nods with a grimace and turns to get herself some water, following which she situates herself at the far end of the kitchen.

"We'll leave after breakfast," Munira says over her shoulder as Salma rushes out with the breakfast dishes when she notes Abba's arrival. "Abba and _Miyaan_ are both very worked up today," she adds, watching the helper leave.

"Why?" Sehmat asks, both out of curiosity and self-preservation.

Munira scoffs and turns off the stove, much to Sehmat's relief. "Why do you think? Whoever is responsible for the fire has not yet been caught, and is obviously _not_ in the cantonment. The attack has lowered the soldiers' morale, and they need to leave to prepare for _war_ —within two weeks."

She begins to gather the toast and Sehmat grabs the jug of juice, following her out to the dining table from where Abba has already risen and Mehboob _bhaijaan_ is just sitting down to eat.

"Are you leaving already?" Sehmat asks Abba, noting that the clock shows only seven, and Abba normally leaves at nine.

"There's a lot going on in the country, child," he replies distractedly.

"Should I wake _Miyaan?"_

"No—Iqbal had come home very late last night—let him sleep a while longer."

* * *

Iqbal does not, in fact, sleep any longer and is awake before Sehmat has entered her bedroom. After another hour he has left, and it is just her and Munira. They are also preparing to leave. Sehmat sits on her bed for a while before she leaves the bedroom, feeling her nervousness spread until all parts of her body are functioning only on adrenaline. She rubs her face and sighs. She thought she had made peace with her situation somewhat, but the uncertainty has returned.

She finally makes it downstairs, where Munira _bhabhi_ is waiting, and together they walk towards the foyer. Sehmat is thankful as her sister-in-law gives her a reassuring smile.

There is more security around the cantonment, Sehmat notes, as the car stops at a check post inside the cantonment and then again at a check post outside it. The clinic is situated in a more urban area than the ones she usually travels to—towards the heart of the city. Despite taking a new route to a new destination, Sehmat cannot bring herself to look out of the window or enjoy the sights. She fiddles instead with the zip of her purse and tries _not_ to think about her circumstance or the persistent butterflies in her stomach.

This does not go unnoticed by Munira, who gently holds Sehmat's hand. It's in a calm but serious voice that she says, "It's all going to be fine, Sehmat."

Munira might not know what aspects of having a child Sehmat is worried about, but her words do have a calming effect on her. So much so, that it makes her take in a deep breath and nod gratefully at her companion.

Sehmat takes a moment before she gets out of the car upon finally reaching their destination—a three-storied structure which is entirely a clinic—and before she walks towards it she looks over it apprehensively.

"We'll be about an hour," Munira tells the driver, and squeezes Sehmat's hand lightly.

"This is it," she says, "The moment of truth."

There is excitement in Munira's eyes, but unlike a few minutes ago, this sentence serves only to further deepen Sehmat's doubts. She takes a few deep breaths as if to brace herself, and then the two women walk into the clinic.

* * *

Sehmat is fidgeting in her seat across from the doctor and beside Munira. The two women make light conversation while they wait for the result to come back. Sehmat has filled out three different forms and a questionnaire. She is then given two different tests in the fifteen minutes that she has already been there. She suspects the fact that she is part of the syed household to be the reason her test is being conducted immediately. She has heard of women having to wait for two to three days before getting their results, so she supposes she really shouldn't be complaining—and she's not.

She's simply very _concerned_. About the child, about herself, about her job, and about Iqbal. She is not quite sure if her testing positive would be a good thing. Probably not, as far as her mission is concerned. And it is an unexpected surprise, which she cannot help but feel has dropped at the wrong moment. She does think she would be hugely disappointed if she were to test negative, however, because this child—or, at the very least, the _idea_ of this child—has grown on her. She feels quite protective over it. There also remains the question of what she would tell Iqbal. Should she say anything at all, if she tests negative? And would it be prudent to tell him right now, if she tests positive? And more importantly, what of the vague 'options' that Mir Sahab had been talking of? She is sufficiently positive that he intends to send her back home as soon as possible, perhaps for good. A child would _not_ help.

She gnaws at her lip as she contemplates her questions, and bites it hard enough to draw blood when the assistant steps into the room, a file in hand. She swipes her tongue over her lips, tasting the metallic blood, and watches anxiously as the doctor reads the file, not even daring to breathe. She feels Munira's hand take hold of hers, and vaguely realizes that they are both on the same level of ... excited nervousness.

The doctor finally shuts the file and says with a kind smile as both women draw in their breath, "Congratulations, Mrs. Syed. You are with child."

* * *

**_Glossary_ **

_Ma :_ Mother

_Abba :_ Father

_Bhaijaan :_ Brother

_Miyaan :_ Here, husband.

_Bhabhi :_ Sister-in-law (brother's wife)

_Phool chadar :_ A sheet of knitted flowers used as offerings for worship.

_Rajma :_ Kidney beans

_Kabuli Chane :_ Chickpeas

_Assalam aalekum : '_ Peace be upon you', an Arabic greeting

_Chachi_ : Aunt

_Walaikum assalam : '_ And unto you be peace', an Arabic greeting

_Beta :_ here, Child

_Ammi :_ Mother

_Mohtarma :_ Madam

_Choti Begum : '_ Choti' means younger, and 'Begum' is the title of a married Muslim woman, equivalent to Mrs. Together in this context they refer to Sehmat being the younger daughter-in-law of the house.


	5. The Result

**_“The path of life is twisted,_ **

**_Fate, wickedly entwined,_ **

**_Take hold of your intent,_ **

**_The way ahead is clear.”_ **

* * *

* * *

  
  


The one day that Iqbal is home and rested long enough for her to broach the topic is right before they leave. It is, coincidentally, also a rare occasion wherein he is in bed before her. Not sleeping, no—because sleep is hard to come by in such times for everyone—but resting all the same. 

Sehmat steals covert glances at him through the mirror she is sitting before, brushing and tying up her hair with trembling fingers, though whether they are trembling due to the secret she is about to reveal or something else is anyone's guess.

She sets her comb down but does not get up, looking at the tired, worried, and wary woman in the mirror for a long minute. She lets out a soft sigh before getting up and making her way to the bed, pulling back the covers and settling under them as softly as possible so as to not disturb Iqbal, but once she is under the covers he shifts over and turns off the night-lamp beside their bed. She watches as he resumes his previous position, lying on the bed but not closing his eyes. He stares at the ceiling, deep in thought. She wishes she could read his mind. Everything would be so much easier if she could read his mind. She sighs again, turning her own eyes towards the ceiling, listening to the sound of silence—only the fan rotating on its axis and the voice of the nightlife. The cantonment is quieter than usual. Somewhere in it all is the quiet sound of Iqbal breathing—a reassuring sound, though she doesn't know if she would be able to hear it again after tonight. The thought builds a painful lump in her throat.

Iqbal breaks the unnerving silence softly. “Sehmat?” 

She turns to see him looking at her, concern and a question in his voice. 

“Yes?” she asks in an equally soft voice, not missing the involuntary tremor in it.

“Are you alright? You seem distressed.”

“Oh,” Sehmat breathes out, “yes I’m—” Words die in her throat. 

_ Yes I’m fine. It’s nothing.  _

She could say this. She  _ should  _ say this. Except she’d be lying. And Iqbal would see through it.

“I …” she tries again, still wondering what to say. She pauses, turning towards the ceiling again. She can feel Iqbal’s eyes on her. He puts a comforting hand on her own, and she decides to go with the truth.

She takes in a deep breath and asks, voice carefully devoid of anything but curiosity, “What do you think of– of children?”

She feels his hand tighten on hers, feels him get up from his reclining position to look at her, and feels the careful deliberation in his voice as he answers, “They’re … alright, I suppose?” He pauses, and Sehmat sighs. “But …” he continues, voice even more careful than before, as if he were treading on eggshells, “... I had always hoped to have a family … and now that I— _ we _ are married …” he trails off, looking at Sehmat with an unreadable expression. She is still looking at the ceiling, watching the light from outside dancing on it. She swallows, picking at a stray strand of thread at the edge of her blanket. 

“Sehmat?” Iqbal says again, and the urgency in his voice compels her to finally look at him, worry, confusion, and what she thinks is hope, on his face.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers, and Iqbal squeezes her hand softly. She entwines her fingers with his. “I’m pregnant.” 

Her heart is pounding as she whispers the last part of the word, eyes on Iqbal’s face trying to discern his reaction. It is not on either ends of the spectrum. There is a glimmer of happiness, yes, and his lips turn up in an awed smile, but more than that there is concern, and his eyes are searching hers. 

When a few moments of silence have passed and Iqbal’s initial shock has worn off, he asks, a hint of hesitation on his voice, “This is a good news … isn't it?” 

“Yes,” Sehmat says, a little surprised, “yes, of course.”

“Then why do you sound so worried?” he asks tenderly, drawing closer and brushing her cheek with his hand, “why do you look so scared?” 

Sehmat looks at him, more surprised than before, lips parted to speak but at a loss of words. He has caught her off guard. And in that moment she cannot help but say all that has been bothering her ever since they announced the war. 

“I am happy,” she says in a shaky voice, still looking at him, “but this is not the best time to have a child, is it?” She shuts her eyes, turning away. “You’re going off to fight. In a  _ war.”  _

Beside her she hears Iqbal sigh. 

“Who knows if– if you’ll even be–” she stops, unable to go on. She opens her eyes, leaning against the headboard, and looks at her hands instead of at him.

“Sehmat,” Iqbal sighs softly, drawing her against himself the way he always does to comfort her, her head leaning against his chest, listening to his beating heart, and his arms around her, giving her a sense of protection—however false it may be. 

"It's going to be okay," he says, pulling her closer, rubbing comforting circles on her skin, with surety neither of them can possibly have, but it serves to comfort her all the same. "I'll be back before you know it. And I'll be here to meet our child." 

She certainly hopes so.

* * *

  
  


They go off to fight. 

She watches him approach the car from their bedroom window and her heart begins its descent to the pits of her stomach. It is barely dawn, the sky only now beginning to lighten, and the window pane pressed against her cheek is strikingly cold, but it helps in keeping away the waves of nausea which otherwise threaten to overpower her. 

Iqbal looks up towards her as if he had already known she was watching. It reminds her unnervingly of their wedding day. It hasn’t been too long since then, but that memory somehow feels as if it were of a different lifetime. He had known where to find her even then. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and Iqbal gives her a slight smile which she tries and fails to reciprocate. It is almost too much to take. Because this is it. This is _war._ This is war, and they are on opposite sides of it. There’s going to be a battle. Her husband will be fighting in that battle. Iqbal might die. Countless others certainly _will_ die—soldiers from her motherland and his. And however much she may want Iqbal to come back home, she wants her country to remain safe and sound more than anything. If she had been oblivious to the enormity of the situation before, she certainly isn’t now. The burden of the scene is beginning to settle around her like a blanket, one that is weighing her down unpleasantly. 

The world is grey, she decides, not black and white as she had once believed. She had been naive back then. There is no good side or bad side in war, there is your country, and your duty to your country. And that is what they’re all doing—serving a higher entity, a noble entity. Their  _ countries.  _ She had always known that she'd do anything, give up anything, for her country. And now she is. She doesn't regret her actions, no. Because regret and guilt are two separate emotions. The same way her duty and her conscience are separate. One always overpowers the other. No, Sehmat does not regret her actions, does not regret saving her country from being caught unawares, but watching her family members—because that is what they are. Family—climb into the vehicle does wrack her with guilt. If they were to get hurt or … or  _ die …  _

He gets in and they set off. Her eyes stay on the vehicle until it is a tiny speck indiscernible from its surroundings, and she doesn't leave the window even after that—she hasn't got the strength, and there are too many things for her to brood about. 

* * *

It is Munira bhabhi who pulls her out of her brooding. Well, her, and the investigating officers who come to the Syed house to investigate. It's a regular investigation they say, a part of the head-count they've been conducting while they're looking into the fire. It's been a week since the men have been gone. Sehamt does not miss the way their eyes stay on her suspiciously once they find out she is Indian by birth. 

* * *

It is again Munira bhabhi who takes charge. Protecting Sehmat fiercely and glaring the officers down into submission. And it works. It works, because they are a part of the  _ Syed  _ Family. Probably the most powerful army family in the cantonment. They leave them alone soon enough, or, at least, pretend to. Sehmat sees them looking from inconspicuous nooks and crannies, her own spy's eyes finding them with practiced ease, and gliding over them as if they weren't ever there with the same practiced ease. 

* * *

She doesn't go to Saadiq anymore, nor to Imtiaz to buy flowers. The first time that she had set foot in Sarvar's store has also been her last. She keeps up the pretences until the number of spies keeping track of her lessen, and only then does she dare step into her own shop—not that there is anything other than business to look forward to over there. She has had no contact with South for a month. It worries her.

* * *

Two weeks since they've been gone later they hear news on the radio of Pakistan's ariel attacks on Indian Air fields. It's December the 4th. Sehmat's heart positively stops beating. 

* * *

A day later they hear of Indian attack on the harbour, something she knows is because of her information. The destruction is huge, positively crippling. At least one thing she is sure of: Pakistan will not win this war. Not with their Navy and Air Force in this state: crippled crafts and fuel and ammunition that is burning up the sea. 

The civillian lives are in danger too. Munira bhabhi's family—her mother and father and her brother's wife and children—were hard to contact, but they're okay. For the time being, at least. The guilt she is feeling grows as she sees Munira's eyes shining.

* * *

Four days later there is another attack—by India, on Pakistan—on the same Karachi harbour. The fire from the first one is still blazing. Shaken whispers around the cantonment tell of abandoned Naval plans and a PNS Ghazi. 

Sehmat notices the spies coming back, their eyes trained on her.

Perhaps, she thinks, it's time to visit Suraiya  _ appa.  _

* * *

One week, or less, later, there is news when Sehmat comes down for breakfast. Not of a victory or of a defeat, but of the end of the war. Of an Instrument of Surrender. Of a country called Bangladesh (So they won. Relief like nothing floods her soul). Of soldiers taken as prisoners of war—not in the west, no, but in the east. Her heart goes cold anyway—she doesn't know where they are. However she—and Munira bhabhi, going by how pale she looks—prefer not having to think about that. 

They go to the Mosque to pray instead. Spies don't follow Sehmat anymore, not after Suriya  _ appa's  _ unconditional and strongly worded order to the chief of the investigating agency—who owed to her and Colonel Siddiqi his position—about how to treat the wives of officers gone to war. There is still nervousness in her as she steps out of the house and towards the Main market. The only respite she has is the Sarvar Store still being open—so they don't know—and of Imtiaz giving her a not unintentional look. 

She looks pregnant now—she has gained the weight. She still hasn't told her superiors. A frightening thought settles into her mind that she pushes away. She doesn't know if Sarvar or Imtiaz or Saadiq would convey this piece of information to Mir sahab. On one hand, it's the logical thing to do. On the other hand, they wouldn't know if this was ever the part of a plan. She herself had been planning on waiting until at some opportune moment, in some celebration or other, she had the chance to meet Kabir sahab, or, more easily, his wife Pallavi. What other way does she have, that is not suspicious? The phones don't take calls from India yet. They won't for a sufficiently long time.

* * *

A month and half after they had left, the men come back. All three of them, each in one piece. They have scars—physical and mental ones—and they have a hardness behind their eyes. It is the humiliation of defeat and the unsettling truth of a battle. They don't look at her any differently though. They truly believe she is of here now. 

And they are happy—they had apparently already known when they had come back. She is told that Iqbal told them right before they entered the battlefield—for her and Iqbal. For the future that is to come. 

Iqbal is no less soft than before—she doesn't think she could see him in any other light, this side of him stands out so much—but he is less like himself. The same hardness behind his eyes too, though they soften considerably when they are trained on her. It makes her conscience heavy.

But her family is home now, and her Home—her country—is safe, and perhaps,  _ perhaps,  _ so is she. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! :D   
> The story has not been abandoned. The last chapter: the 6th chapter, will be up by November the 15th. Take care y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello all readers! Thank you for reading my Raazi Fix-it. This is (obviously) an AU fic and so I have taken some liberty with little details. Other little things are actually a part of canon, which were later omitted (for example, did you know that Sehmat really did run her father's business after his demise?).
> 
> I hope you liked this, if you did please review. There will be bi-monthly updates, so please follow the story if you wish to read more :).
> 
> ~Your fellow Raazi fanatic, The Dark Enchantress Ruhi


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